It's the Thought that Counts
by Neshomeh
Summary: Pilot falls ill and there's a renegade loose on Moya. Whatever shall the crew do? Finished.
1. Part One

A small bronze-and-brown pod sat on the outskirts of a spaceport on a warm, brown and yellow planet called Armanith. There wasn't a lot of vegetation, but a cool breeze all but made up for the lack of shade. Nearby was a bustling marketplace with stalls made of wooden poles and cloth, and nearer to the spaceport was a building with high sandstone- colored walls that offered the only reliable protection from the sun's rays.  
  
Aeryn and D'Argo lifted the last box into the pod's hold. As D'Argo went around to the front of the small vehicle to close the back hatch, Aeryn leaned against the side of the pod, looking slightly worn out, and lifted the communicator to her mouth.  
  
"John?"  
  
There was a short silence, then:  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"We're all finished down here and ready to come back." She pushed away from the pod and walked around to the front and the pilot's seat.  
  
"Alright. See ya in a few."  
  
Aeryn clambered into the pod. As it took off, a churning ring of dust slowly moved away from where it had been.  
  
* * *  
  
A few solar days later, Moya moved calmly through the blackness of space. How wonderful to just be flying, and not chased and shot at! Still, despite the peace, something was already wrong.  
  
The time was approximately 1930 arns. Inside, John, Aeryn and D'Argo sat around the Command Deck looking somewhat bored, but perfectly happy to be that way. Chiana, Zhaan and Rygel were in their respective quarters. All was quiet except for the throbbing hum of Moya that they were accustomed to.  
  
Suddenly, a booming sound had everyone on his or her feet as the corresponding ball of light that was a ship's projectile flashed across the viewing screen and headed off into space.  
  
"What the..?!" yelled Chrichton. Similar exclamations had risen from the other two, and all were now staring at the screen.  
  
"They're sending a transmission..." said D'Argo, frantically pushing buttons. An image popped up on the screen of a tall, dark man with brown skin, neatly pulled-back black hair, amber eyes, and a hawk-like profile. Behind him was the ship's bridge, manned by four or five others all wearing the same tan-with-yellow uniform. This man didn't waste time with formality but got straight to the point:  
  
"We have reason to believe," he drawled in a thick baritone voice, "that you are hiding an escaped criminal on board your ship. If this person is not surrendered within twelve arns time, we will not hesitate to destroy you."  
  
Quickly deciding that he was not the sort of person to be taken lightly, the three aboard Moya took action at once and simultaneously.  
  
Aeryn: attempted to 'pacify' hawk-man: "Hold on for just a micron; we don't know what you're talking about. We're not hiding anyone..."  
  
D'Argo: "I'll start searching Moya." He headed off to find the others.  
  
Chrichton: whirled around to face the clamshell and shouted into the comm.: "Pilot! Is there any damage? How soon can we get the defense screen up? Pilot?"  
  
The said image flickered into clarity, looking gray and feverish. He looked toward John, but didn't really seem to see him. His face was tight with pain.  
  
"I'm not well..." 


	2. Part Two

"What?" John was as startled by Pilot's appearance as by the outrageous understatement on his part, and was confused and worried.  
  
"What's wrong now?" Aeryn turned around, took one look at Pilot, and her question was answered. She quickly strode to where John was standing and shoved him out of the way to have a closer look.  
  
"Zhaan!" she shouted into her comm. and turned away.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Zhaan, get down to Pilot right away; there's something very wrong with him!"  
  
The Delvian paused, as if about to ask questions, then-  
  
"Right." The comm. went dead and the clamshell blanked out again.  
  
"Now as I was saying," Aeryn turned angrily back to face the main screen, "we aren't 'hiding' anyone that we are aware of, but if there really is some criminal on the loose, then we need to know how dangerous this person is and what to expect. As you may or may not have noticed, we seem to be having our own problems-"  
  
"As usual-" interjected Chrichton, who was sitting again.  
  
"-so you may have to wait a little longer than you would like for results."  
  
"Very well," drawled hawk-man; "It's no concern of mine if you waste your time talking; you have twelve and only twelve arns; so we'll pretend you don't have a clue."  
  
"I sure don't," John protested. Aeryn shot him a dirty look.  
  
"My name is Kwah'ron, Head Officer of the Hizrett family's personal guard. This prisoner escaped the night before your ship left our spaceport, and one of our agents reported her to be hiding in your pod, but sadly you left before we could take care of you and her then and there. My Lady insists that the person who murdered her son be captured and re-imprisoned or, if necessary, destroyed, along with any who would aid... that sort of person."  
  
"So who is this murderer, and what exactly does she do?" asked John worriedly.  
  
"I don't know her history, only that she's very dangerous. She's a mind-stealer; a soul-snatcher, and that's what she was imprisoned for- multiple acts of killing innocent people by completely severing their mind and soul from their body! As if you didn't already know. Hmph! Seems to me that you've brought your own doom onboard. This person is drawn to the infirm, by some perverse desire, and if your "pilot" is ill with her on the loose, as you claim, your party hasn't got long to survive anyway. Twelve arns!" The screen went black and starry again.  
  
Aeryn and Chrichton exchanged glances, a bit shocked. John stood up and both turned and took off down the corridors leading to Pilot's helm. In their hurry to get down there, they nearly bowled over Chiana, who was going in the opposite direction.  
  
"Hey! Why's everyone in such a frelling hurry all of a sudden? D'Argo just burst into my quarters and told me to start searching Moya for someone; didn't say who, and now you two rampaging down the corridors as if the entire PK force was after you! What was that blast a while ago, and what the hells is happening around here???"  
  
"No time now, Pip!" Chrichton grabbed her arm and propelled her down the corridor. "We've got to get down to the den; Zhaan may need help."  
  
"Zhaan, wh- wait a micron, what's wrong with Pilot? Why should Zhaan need help?" She yanked her arm free and moved along on her own. Aeryn decided to be helpful.  
  
"We'll give you the full story when we get everyone down there, but basically what we know is that there's a murderer on the loose, on Moya, who likes to kick people when they're down. If we don't find her within twelve arns we'll all be killed, and to top it all off Pilot's chosen this convenient time to get sick!" She sounded torn between extreme anger and intense worry.  
  
"I didn't even know that was possible," Chrichton commented.  
  
They reached the left-hand entrance to the den and all three burst in, causing Zhaan quite a fright. She had no time to say anything, however, as Aeryn, John, and Chiana each voiced their own urgent queries.  
  
"Has anyone come down here?"  
  
"Did you see anyone strange?"  
  
"What's wrong with Pilot?"  
  
Zhaan, looking tense and worried, told them to hush, then answered their questions.  
  
"No, Aeryn; no, John, and... Chiana, I honestly don't know." She looked over her shoulder at Pilot, who appeared considerably worse in person. His color was very poor and he slumped over the console, eyes shut tight in pain. They could hear his ragged breathing and occasional soft moans.  
  
"He's hot to the touch, and told me he's had pain in his head since around 0900, getting gradually worse as the day went on. When I asked him why he hadn't told anyone before, he said something about causing us enough trouble already. He is obviously delirious, and nothing I've tried seems to help." She was very troubled, and it showed on her face.  
  
Just then, D'Argo entered through the right-hand doorway, closely followed by Rygel. Aeryn had commed both of them and asked them to "meet the rest of us down here" while Zhaan had been talking.  
  
"Any luck?" she asked them hopefully.  
  
"No," said Rygel in his usual pompous tone. "It's not as if we even know what we're looking for; and I can't believe I've been led on yet another wild lardle chase on this Luxan's "orders", rudely awakened when I was just beginning to drift off; and for what, I ask you?!"  
  
"If you're ready to shut up, we'll tell you," said Chrichton, looking thoroughly annoyed with the whole evening. The Hynerian shut up, so he and Aeryn proceeded to tell the two newcomers what had been going on. D'Argo, however, wasn't really listening. He had picked up a strange scent on the way down to the den, and found it very strong now, so was prowling around the room trying to identify its source.  
  
"D'Argo, what is it?" John asked in exasperation. He was uptight as it was, and the Luxan's hunting was setting his nerves on edge. Besides which, D'Argo had suddenly stopped in front of the console and to Pilot's left and seemed to have found something. He motioned for the others to be quiet and began to slowly pull himself up onto the console, despite Zhaan's warning look, and presently dropped to the floor on the other side of it. The others heard a muffled yell, followed by the sounds of a small scuffle. Aeryn, Chrichton, Rygel, and Chiana drew their weapons and formed a semi-circle blocking the exits.  
  
It didn't last long. There was a period of silence; then, to everyone's relief, D'Argo somehow managed to climb back over to their side of the console carrying what appeared to be a somewhat grubby- looking sixteen- or seventeen-cycle-old girl with longish straight auburn hair in an over-sized grayish quarter-sleeve shirt thing. He set the girl on her bare feet in the middle of the room, drew his Qualta-blade, and stepped back closer to Zhaan, who was attempting to cool Pilot down and muttering soothingly to him. The girl merely stood where she had been set, head down, fiddling with the strip of cloth tied about her middle and straightening out the shirt-thing, which fell past her knees. She was very small despite her apparent age, but longer in proportions than a human girl of equivalent years.  
  
"Don't move a muscle," Chrichton warned from the left-hand doorway, realizing as he said it that she probably wouldn't have to wipe their minds clean. Chiana near the right-hand door was clearly dubious as to the amount of danger the girl presented, but held her peace.  
  
"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" Aeryn demanded from between the two of them. She cocked her gun.  
  
~ Wait!~ A low mezzo voice implored, ~Just wait; I don't want to hurt anyone, I was only trying to help your friend.~  
  
"Like hell you wer-" and Chrichton was the first to realize what was strange about the situation.  
  
"Okay, is it just me, or did you guys just hear a voice in your head?"  
  
"I heard it," Aeryn confirmed nervously. One by one the others did, too. John took a step backwards.  
  
~If the mind-speech bothers you I'll stop.~ The girl lifted her head to reveal a bronzey-brown oval-shaped face containing a pair of startlingly green eyes and a ski-jump nose that would have made her look somewhat impertinent if it wasn't for the sad, disheveled look she had about her.  
  
"My name is Jen'ra Perrfelis, and I'm here because I needed to get off of Armanith without being noticed. I guess I messed up." She smiled a bit, betraying a natural appreciation of the ironic. The tone of her spoken voice exactly matched that of her mind-voice; melodic, cool, and calming with an independent lilt.  
  
"I- I'm empathic, and when I sensed- the fever- in your friend this morning, I made my way down here to see if-"  
  
"To see if he would be an easy target for you, is that it?" The girl met the fiery glare of Aeryn, who had her pulse-gun pointed at the stranger's head.  
  
"What? No! You can't be ser- ohhh..." The crew suddenly felt, one by one, a strange tingling itchiness just under their skulls (except for Rygel, who felt something more like a mild headache), but the sensation ended before they could react to it.  
  
"I see," said Jen'ra, nodding to herself. "I apologize if any of you felt any discomfort just now (she looked apologetically at Rygel, who was rubbing his head). I just read your minds-don't be frightened!- and not everyone takes it the same way. I just find it a lot simpler than asking lots of questions. Sorry. Ah, you seem to have been misinformed about me; I'm not a murderer at all. I would never do something like that." She looked pleadingly around the room, gaze resting on Pilot, who was breathing much harder, before turning back to face Aeryn. Chiana lowered her gun a bit and tilted her head in curiosity, but the others didn't move.  
  
"There isn't much time," Jen'ra said, mostly to herself. "Please, you have to believe me; I know how to help your Pilot, but you need to trust me. If you'll let me explain myself more thoroughly, I think you'll understand better what's going on." She looked hopefully at John.  
  
"No!" Rygel contested, still rubbing the back of his head. "If you ask me, the thing to do is to hand this person over to Char-don, or whatever his name is, right now, and get out of here with our lives!" The crew turned to face him.  
  
"Your life, maybe, Dominar Rygel, but not Pilot's!" Zhaan protested. "I haven't been able to do a thing for him, and as we've been standing here his temperature has perceptibly risen. He can't take much more! I say we must take the chance."  
  
Jen'ra nodded thankfully at her.  
  
"If it will save Pilot's life..." Chiana seemed unwilling to state a definite opinion. She had lowered her weapon and was fiddling with it. She looked at John.  
  
"The clock is ticking," said Chrichton impatiently. "This is one of those times when a decision is required, so here're the facts again. We have a little more than eleven arns to... do whatever we're going to do. I'm all for helping Pilot in any way we can, but it's a bit of a pickle. Hand this person over and according to Zhaan, Pilot may die. We absolutely can't have that. So say we let her stick around and do her thing. Who knows how long that will take? And there's still the possibility that she's lying and will brainwash us all, or something. We still get blown to smithereens in eleven arns, and we absolutely can't have that! Seems like we're toast either way." John looked at D'Argo.  
  
"I think," said he, "that we should at least hear this Jen'ra out, and then decide what to do with her. John's right; we're in a pretty tight corner here, so we can't afford to waste any opportunity to get out of it." All eyes rested on Aeryn. She nodded at D'Argo and looked scathingly at Jen'ra. Finally she lowered her weapon.  
  
"Alright. Tell us your story, but be quick about it."  
  
"Good." Jen'ra flashed her a grateful smile. "Ah, it will be very quick if I tell you in mindspeech. It's more 'pictures' than words, so takes less time to understand. I'll explain that, too, as best I can. Rygel will probably suffer a mild headache afterwards, but otherwise it's the best way to communicate that I know of." She looked at Pilot, whose one claw was opening and closing spasmodically. Jen'ra winced a bit, as if remembering something painful. "We need to hurry."  
  
The crew looked around at each other. No one objected, though Rygel looked as if he'd been sucking on something very sour.  
  
"Go on, then," said Aeryn. 


	3. Part Three

Jen'ra sat down on the floor with her legs folded beneath her and fixed her vision on a spot on the far wall.  
  
~Okay,~ the girl's mindvoice filtered into their brains again, and they realized that it was in fact more images, feelings, and colors than words. A rather fuzzy picture of the planet Armanith popped into their heads, which twisted and spiraled, as thoughts will, to focus on a particular medium-sized house that appeared to be made entirely of tan sandstone of some sort. The windows were paneless to promote the planet's cool breezes and there were cloth hangings on the doors and windows that looked as if they could be fastened securely to the evenly spaced wooden pegs in the frames. All in all, it was a neat- looking well-kept place.  
  
Jen'ra conveyed to them that she had lived there with her parents until she was eight cycles old.  
  
~I've always had my 'talent'. I tried, and still try, not to use it to take advantage of people, but sometimes it's tempting to take a peek inside. I'm not proud of myself when I slip, but you can't really blame me for wanting to know, especially because I'm empathic as well as telepathic. I can't help sensing other people's pain and stronger emotions, so it's natural for me to want to find out why they feel the way they do. The telepathy works in strange ways, and half the time I don't understand it myself, so I may not be able to explain it very well, but I'll do the best I can. I understand that the sensation of being touched by someone else's mind can be unnerving, so it'll be good for you to know what I'm doing.~  
  
~I can speak to people in their minds, as you know, by focusing on their "signature" and directing my thoughts to it. Every individual's is different, so there's no confusion that way, when I'm paying attention. I also "read" people, basically on three levels. A cursory scan of the... -err, well, the mindnet, I guess, gives me the signatures of everyone around me, and if I go a bit deeper I can hear the individual surface thoughts that inhabit people's consciousness. An actual read goes deeper, and I can pick up the underlying thoughts the person is just barely aware of, and the emotional "drive" behind them. A read can also get into the person's short-term memories. A full, all-out read gives me everything, from ulterior motives, to subconscious thought, to the person's deepest, darkest memories. Mental blocks mean little or nothing to me, because they weren't intended to keep me out. I have had people block my mindvoice before, though.~  
  
She stopped, and looked around at the crew. Their eyes had closed automatically, without them even thinking about it. They seemed to be somewhat enthralled. Jen'ra smiled, satisfied, and continued.  
  
~You can 'speak me, if you want to, by just forming the thoughts in your minds; I'll pick them up. Now you will be able to understand why I do what I do. I don't really want to tell my life's story, but there are certain things I always tell... and some that I never have until now. But I think you need to hear this part of my life to believe me.~  
  
The picture of the little tan house re-solidified in the crew's minds, and swirled to an interior view of a room. The only light came from the curtained window in the far wall from Jen'ra-the-child's point of view. She was standing in the doorway. The crew realized that they were being shown a memory of the girl's. She had been seven and a half then, and the image was foggy with age, but the presence of a woman lying in the bed was strong. They understood that this was her mother. Jen'ra communicated to them that the woman had stayed in bed that morning with a slight fever, thinking it would pass, but it hadn't. They saw through the girl's memories of the event that she had just gotten hotter and hotter. When noon rolled around and her mother had begun to have head pains, the crew sensed the odd pins-and- needles feeling that had affected Jen'ra in the same area. She had restrained herself from reading her mother's thoughts, and instead monitored the odd buzzing pulse that surrounded the woman.  
  
(Like an aura,) John thought to himself.  
  
~Something like that,~ Jen'ra replied.  
  
The pulse seemed to behave like a heartbeat for the whole body, and was very slow, which worried the young girl. The buzzing was very erratic and constantly changed pitch, but mainly remained low in octave. She conveyed to them that the pitch of the buzzing reflected emotions and translated some of them automatically: fear, grief, shame, sadness. This was confusing to the child-Jen'ra, but still she contained her anxious curiosity.  
  
The fever and headaches got worse and worse as the remembered day went on. The man, Jen'ra's father, tended the woman as he had all day, until around their ten at night, when the fever and pain became too much for her to handle. She slipped into an unconscious state. By then the man was worn out and fell asleep, but Jen'ra stayed up and continued to monitor her mother's "life-force," which was still behaving as if she were only asleep herself. Around the girl's midnight, the pitch suddenly stabilized at a particularly low note, causing Jen'ra enough surprise to dip into her mother's surface thoughts. What she picked up was terrible.  
  
~You can't possibly understand what was going on in her mind then; I didn't understand it myself. All she thought and felt was despair; things like "I'm worthless", and "a bad person"; and the way you feel when you've had an awful day and made awful mistakes and said awful things is like euphoria compared to this. It's the same way every time, with this... but I'm getting ahead of myself.~ If Jen'ra felt any grief, she kept it hidden from them.  
  
The woman died by the next morning. Jen'ra and her father moved away from the little house half a cycle later to get away from the memories. He, too, died the cycle after that.  
  
~Probably of grief; no one ever explained it to me. I was only nine then, but I vowed not to let any other families get torn apart by the disease my mother had. I wandered the planet on my own for the next three cycles, following the disease. It can't be contagious, or I wouldn't be here to tell about it, but it has a habit of popping up someplace near where it was last seen, usually, so it was easy to track. I quickly learned how to bring people through it alive and sane. I learned the pattern of it, as well. It always begins as a harmless morning fever that gets worse and worse until they pass out. The headaches start around noon, and they, too, get more painful until the critical point. ~  
  
~Once the headaches begin, so do the memories. Not just any memories, either. Don't ask me why; I'm a healer, not a medic. Through whatever strange twist of biology, it causes them to relive only their worst memories, remember only the way they've acted when they were at their worst, and think only of the nastiest things people have said about and to them. In the end, they wind up believing that this must be the way they really are because it doesn't allow you to counteract the bad with the good. Depending on the person, they just decide they can't live with themselves anymore, and don't. It's a bit ironic that way, but I'll come to that.~  
  
~Basically what I found I had to do to save these people is give them the will to live. When I arrived at a person's home, I would explain the disease to the family and ask permission to do a full read to find out what I was up against, and how exactly to help the person. I insert the good memories into their minds and force them to remember why they want to live. It wasn't always easy, but as long as they didn't block me I could usually get them through it. I loved it. I wandered the whole planet, learning something new every day (you were probably wondering about my vocabulary); helping out where I could, and just surviving.~  
  
She showed them some memories of her wanderings, and some of her "patients". The pattern of the disease revealed itself to be consistent with each individual, relative to their age. The memories would start with their early childhood and work their way to the present, by which time the person would begin to give up if it weren't for Jen'ra. She seemed to care greatly for every one, and she always worked very hard to save them. The families were, of course, grateful and it was often only by their generosity that she survived. She didn't pretend that it was an easy lifestyle, but enjoyed her work nonetheless. Usually.  
  
~Unfortunately, there aren't always enough good aspects to a person's life that I can take advantage of; and here's the irony: a truly mean and nasty individual often has more chance of surviving than a truly wonderful person because they often don't care or understand that they did something wrong. It's how they want to be, whereas with a nice person, they won't have done much to create bad memories, but the ones that do exist devastate them.~  
  
~Iganon Hizrett was the son of your typical wealthy, powerful family of snobs. He was very different from them, which made his life a living hell. I liked him; he was very kind and tolerant of the rest of his family. I really tried my hardest to bring him through it, but... there just wasn't much reason for him to live. When he didn't make it, his family blamed me for his death, saying I ate his soul, or some nonsense like that. I heal; I read minds, but I don't eat them.~  
  
She expressed her total frustration with "the entire pack of idiots".  
  
~As I said, they are a powerful family, so as a twelve-cycle-old girl I didn't stand much chance against them. They had me thrown in prison, for life- no bail, no parole. And my planet has the nerve to call itself an "advanced society". I sincerely hope you can understand that my talent drove me to try to escape several times. It's bad enough to be able to sense the pain of others, not that I'm complaining, but to be cooped up in a prison cell unable to help made me feel about as useful as a knife in a room full of soup. I tried and failed to escape for five arns before I was presented with the opportunity of a lifetime. It was really very easy for me to get out of there, given my talent, but before I was always caught by some Hizrett agent and taken back. This time was different. Call it fate, or destiny, or dumb luck, but that time I made it.~  
  
The crew watched one of Moya's own pods land through Jen'ra's eyes and the bars of her cell, and see the idea to get off-planet entirely form in the girl's mind. Yes; that would work, and who knew what kind of healing she could do out there in the Galaxy? There must be so many out there in need... She escaped at night, slipped away, and hid among the boxes and things in the hold.  
  
~I hid onboard Moya, avoiding those little yellow things-DRD's?- until I picked up the signs of my 'old friend' in Pilot. I made my way down here, and here I've been.~  
  
"What do you think?" she asked them out loud.  
  
One by one the crew opened their eyes, not realizing they had shut them. They blinked, looked around at each other, and then at Jen'ra, who was still sitting on the floor. They all felt as if they had just woken up from a restful night's sleep. John yawned.  
  
"Well, it's a beautiful story," he said sarcastically, "but why should we believe you? How do we know you didn't just make it up?"  
  
"You don't," she answered simply. "But he's running out of time." She glanced apprehensively at Pilot. "The timing of things has been very erratic with him, stuff popping up sooner than it should... I- I don't think it's a serious problem, but I don't know that it isn't, and the critical point is in less than an arn either way." She sounded worried, and they could almost feel her pleading with them to believe her, for his sake, though she didn't communicate this to them in spoken words or mindspeech. Aeryn made a decision.  
  
"How long... how long will it take to get him well again?"  
  
"You aren't seriously believing this, are you?!"  
  
"Oh, be quiet, Rygel!" Chiana shoved him towards the door.  
  
"I won't!" he retorted. "Am I the only one here who hasn't been brainwashed? This person has obviously tricked you into believing her every word so she can get on with her dirty work! Well, I'm not falling for it! I'm-"  
  
"How long?" Aeryn interrupted him before he could begin a tirade. Jen'ra stood up.  
  
"The fever runs its course in a day and a night, but this time I can't really tell you for sure, and he'll need a good while to recover before doing anything too strenuous." She sounded puzzled. "What are you thinking of?" The fact that she would ask them this was a surprise, but improved their opinion of her.  
  
"We've got 'till 0700 tomorrow to find a way out of this. That's-" he glanced at his digital; "ten arns," John reminded them.  
  
They stood in silence for a while, thinking. Suddenly, D'Argo remembered something.  
  
"Moya can Starburst on her own."  
  
"What has that got to do with anything?" Chrichton demanded. The Luxan ignored him.  
  
"Jen'ra, can you interface with Moya?"  
  
"You mean mindspeak her? I don't know. I can hear her in Pilot's mind; she's trying as hard as I am to help; but I never thought about 'speaking her directly. Why?"  
  
"Of course!" Aeryn caught on. "Jen'ra can get Pilot through the worst of it, give Moya the word, and we Starburst out of this mess before ol' bird-boy has a clue what's going on!"  
  
"Assuming we believe her," John added.  
  
"Do we have a choice?!" Zhaan argued.  
  
"I'm afraid it's not that simple," Jen'ra warned. "The chance of relapse is very high with this, and any kind of stress, like a Starburst as I understand it, could- "  
  
BOOM! The impact of the blast from the Armanian ship rocked Moya; this was no warning shot. The crew and Jen'ra struggled to regain their balance. As they did so, Aeryn noticed something potentially vital.  
  
"Where's Rygel?! If he's in any way responsible for this, it'll be his head!"  
  
"He was just here!" cried Chiana. "He must've slipped out."  
  
"You can have his head," snarled D'Argo, "if there's anything left of it when I'm through with him!" He and Aeryn rushed through the door and up to the Command Deck.  
  
"Scratch Plan A," said Chrichton morosely.  
  
"Now what?" Chiana groaned.  
  
"I don't know. They don't seem to be attacking, so maybe it's nothing?" Zhaan prayed that for once this was the case.  
  
"Yeah, and my name's Rumplestiltskin! It's never nothing. I'm going to go see what's going on upstairs." He stormed through the doorway. Chiana shook her head.  
  
"Can you tell if Moya was badly damaged, Jen'ra? Jen'ra?"  
  
She didn't seem to hear. She had turned to face Pilot and was leaning against the console for support, and appeared to be totally focused on him.  
  
~Can't talk now; getting ugly. Odd case, this one; gotta concentrate. No worries!~  
  
Chiana and Zhaan exchanged worried looks. 


	4. Part Four

John stopped just outside of the Command Deck.  
  
"What'd he do?" he inquired of D'Argo, who was holding Rygel against the wall by his neck.  
  
"Told that Armanian that she'd brainwashed us all and somehow gave him the idea that he had to fire on us to "snap us out of it"! And promised to hand over the girl if- "  
  
"-they would spare his life!" they ended in unison. "And for a price, I'll bet! Sparky, you never learn, do you? They're the bad guys. We're the good guys. The good guys do not help the bad guys at any cost!!" The Hynerian looked thoroughly miserable at this point. John could hear Aeryn arguing with Kwah'ron in the background. She sounded a bit desperate, so he decided to go help her and let off some more steam, his way. As far as he was concerned, the whole thing was getting ridiculous!  
  
"-and just because we've found your girl doesn't mean we're going to simply hand her over right away! We have our own questions to ask first!"  
  
"Yeah, and Spanky over there was a bit dazed by her initial attack, you know, so he may have been a bit- confused when he told you whatever he did. She's a tough one, but fortunately her psychic powers," he wiggled his fingers mystically, "had no effect on me, and I was able to knock her unconscious before she did any harm. And we didn't need your 'help'!"  
  
The Armanian was non-plussed by Chrichton's tale of heroism.  
  
"What he told me," he said coldly, "was that you let her put you all under her spell, and he was the only one with enough sense left to do the right thing and tell us so we could do something about it."  
  
"And we're speaking about ourselves in the third person now, are we?" Chrichton retorted. "You shot at us, you bastard!"  
  
"It was in the best interests of all concerned," Kwah'ron dissembled unsuccessfully. "However, I must now insist that you," he looked pointedly at John, "personally deliver the prisoner to my ship, or we will be forced to arrest the lot of you for aiding a known criminal. If you have not complied within one arn, we will send someone to see that you do." Once again the screen went blank before either Aeryn or John had a chance to say more, though Aeryn looked as if the conversation had confirmed something very nasty for her. Chrichton felt much the same way.  
  
"One arn?! Rygel, you malodorous little weasel; if it's the last thing I do, I swear I'll kill you!" John pushed D'Argo out of the way and got right in the Hynerian's face, looking murderous.  
  
"Provided we get out of this alive," Aeryn snapped just as hotly. She grabbed his shirtsleeve and roughly dragged him along in her wake. "We've got to tell the others! Something definitely stinks here, but this time it's not Rygel. See what you two can find out about how much damage..." D'Argo was left alone in the passageway with Rygel.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
(Too hot! Much too hot; and oh! it hurts)... too many memories... can't stand much more.  
  
~Yes you can, you have before.~  
  
A musical, silvery tone. ? Ignore it. Not worth putting up with the pain; I'm not worth it. No one would care, anyway. I know, always known it.  
  
~You don't really think that, you know. If that were true, would Moya and I be here talking to you?~  
  
Said so so many times, mus' be true what they've said. Am I a failure? Yes!! Yes, done stupid things; don't know what I'm doing and never strong enough; but sometimes too powerful... emotions telling the truth this time (a surge of shame, regret, guilt, and embarrassment); all too strong, stronger than my will.  
  
~Are you sure? What about when- ~  
  
Too weak, then and now! (AHH, it hurts; go away!) But- maybe- that time...  
  
~You got through it with a little help from Aeryn and the others, didn't you? It turned out all right, and here you are now, truly Bonded and still visiting the stars! How could you really be a failure? Of course you're not!~  
  
Mmmrrrmmph; Aeryn... (anger, then guilt). But that was my fault, and what I did was wrong! (Too hot!!) Moya- love her- don't deserve her. Not s'possed to be me, anyway. Not right! But she tells me it's alright; I'm alright? Affection..? don't deserve it! Not me! Not right; not good enough... Can't Take Any More!!!  
  
* * *  
  
~There he goes...~  
  
Pilot let out a quavering sigh of partial relief, and his face relaxed somewhat.  
  
~Went earlier than I thought. Think he'll pull through, though.~  
  
(If that remark was supposed to be encouraging,) Chiana thought, (she fell short of her mark. She sounds too tired!)  
  
Aeryn and Chrichton re-appeared in the room, skidding to a halt in the nick of time to avoid crashing into Jen'ra.  
  
"We need to get out of here, fast! The goons upstairs are working for Scorpius!" Aeryn attempted to climb over to Pilot's side of the console, but was hastily restrained by John, Zhaan, and Chiana.  
  
"What are you talking about?" All three seemed to think that she had gone crackers. She hurriedly explained herself.  
  
"When D'Argo and I stopped Rygel in the corridor, we overheard Kwah'ron talking to someone that sounded an awful lot like Scorpy. He was saying something about wanting Chrichton and 'the girl' as soon as possible, no matter what had to be done to get them. We have an arn before someone boards us to make sure that happens, so we need to MOVE!" She wrenched herself free.  
  
"But he can't possibly Starburst like this; it could kill him!" protested Zhaan.  
  
"Pilot just KOed," Chiana explained; "Konked Out; and I think Jen'ra's worried."  
  
"That's spelled with a C, Pip. I'll just bet I know what ol' Scorpy's after, too," John chimed in. "He wants to use Jen'ra-the-Psy-Chic to get the frelling wormhole data out of my head telepathically!"  
  
"And then just hand her back over to the Hizretts, and no one will hear anything from her. Brilliant." Chiana finished, wanting to be heard.  
  
"Which is why we need to get away from him as quickly as possible!"  
  
"We can't risk a Starburst!"  
  
"I know that, Zhaan! But we have to. If Scorpius gets a hold of her, then he- we- all of us- we're done for anyway." (I will not show emotion!) Somehow she didn't fool John, who had a vague inkling of what she felt with regards to Pilot.  
  
"Hey, Sun-Shine. C'mere." He pulled her into a hug which, to the amazement of all, she returned. "Now, this is definitely one of the rockiest rocks, and the hardest of hard places we've been caught between, but we'll manage. We've kicked Scorpy's butt before, and we will this time, too. I promise."  
  
"You promise?" Aeryn asked wryly.  
  
"Mm-hm."  
  
She gently pulled away from him and backed toward the console, grimly resigned to do what had to be done.  
  
"Then get back here and help me."  
  
* * *  
  
Moya felt the familiar toggling that generally keyed her to prepare for a Starburst jump. Something else was wrong; she could tell by the frantic way the request was issued. Why another jump with no coordinates? Oh; what if it was another threat to her Bond-Partner? She was greatly disturbed by her symbiont's condition, and glad of the stranger's presence in his mind. She seemed to be friendly and knew what to do, whereas Moya herself was confused and frightened. Yes; if it were another threat, evasive action would have to be taken. She began to prepare for a short leap away...  
  
* * *  
  
Jen'ra became aware that something untoward was going on when she noticed the lapse in Moya's until-then-constant flood of emotional support to Pilot. Truly helpful, that. A quick mind-scan of everyone in the room told her all that she needed to know, but too late to stop what was happening. No time to be angry now, but later would be another matter indeed!  
  
(Until then, please, please don't let anything go wrong...)  
  
* * *  
  
The Leviathan on the screens began to glow bright blue-white, then suddenly- was gone.  
  
"They've disappeared!" exclaimed a man.  
  
"Disappeared?! Wh- They've Starburst! Quickly, track them; find out where they're going!" barked Scorpius from the entrance to the ship's bridge. "I want that girl!" 


	5. Part Five

(So of course something goes wrong!) Jen'ra thought to herself dejectedly. The Starburst had severed her connection to Pilot, losing for her the already tenuous hold she had in his thoughts, which had begun to swirl together and take on a nightmarish quality.  
  
She searched frantically for a window, knowing that if she couldn't make a niche for herself soon, her mindvoice would end up being blocked by the rapidly forming whirlpool of solid emotional despair.  
  
(Like water on a cliffside. What is the time?) She wondered. (It's much too soon for this to be happening; and all out of synch. Too soon after the critical point, but so long after it all started- 0900 arns, not 1200. . . I don't know what to make of it! He's not Armanian; that may have something to do with it, but somehow I don't think so and I can't find a way through that stupid, premature. . . Ohhhhhhhh, DREN!) She became aware that the others were staring at her. Oh dear; had she been broadcasting? What to say. . ?  
  
~He's blocking me out,~ she informed them resignedly. ~He walled up much sooner than is normal, and with my link destroyed (by the Starburst), I was shut out. There's nothing I can do about it. We can only hope that I left enough of an impression behind-slowed it down enough-to give him a fair shot, but. . . It's been so erratic that I couldn't say for sure, even if I was still in a position of influence.~ She turned to face Chiana, Zhaan, John, and Aeryn, who looked respectively dumbstruck, devastated, utterly miserable, and guilty. She had expected this, and knew what her reaction would be. She couldn't stand the hopelessness. . .  
  
"There's still a chance, though," she heard herself saying. "I will keep trying, until I see no reason to, and with me there's always a reason. Don't give up just yet!" (Not on him, and not on me! So like Iganon in some ways. . . no! Not this time!) She gave them the most reassuring, encouraging smile that she could muster, and they seemed to take heart, at least a little, which in turn encouraged Jen'ra. Zhaan, however, noticed the telltale signs of fatigue in the girl's eyes.  
  
"Jen'ra, is there anything we can do to help you? You're tiring out, and I wish I could order you to rest yourself, but as that's not possible I would do anything I can to support you."  
  
The young healer laughed wryly. "First time anyone's asked me that in a while! Ha! You wouldn't happen to have any chaloris on board, would you? It's a kind of spiced fruit juice we have on my home world. . . I didn't think so. No, I'll be alright. Thank you. The worst is yet to come an. . . ny. . . .waaaay..!! Moya! That's it; I can 'speak Moya and she'll 'speak Pilot! It'll work; their Bond is still intact, so she won't have been shut out like me. I'll just broadcast so you can hear. . ." She focused on some obscure point on the wall and cast her mind out and around, searching for the unique mental signature that was the Leviathan's. Finding it, she sent out a tentative query in mindspeech.  
  
~M- Moya?~  
  
The Leviathan's sudden movement caught everyone off guard and caused all but Jen'ra and Aeryn, who had been leaning on the console, to fall down.  
  
~It's alright! It's okay, but I need your help. {(to the others only): She's in a state of near panic, as far as I can tell. This long with her symbiont acting strangely; she's worried and frightened, and I startled her. No problem.} No, no; not like that. I just need you to communicate to me what your bond is thinking and 'speak to him for me.~ She interpreted Moya's wordless speech without a problem, and gave a running commentary on what was happening.  
  
Just then, as Zhaan, Chiana, and Chrichton, with Aeryn's help, got back to their feet, D'Argo commed them from the Command Deck.  
  
"What the Hezmana was that?!"  
  
All four answered at once:  
  
"Moya's very concerned about-"  
  
"Jen'ra's link was broken when we-"  
  
"She's trying to mindspeak Moya-"  
  
"Moya's panicking, D'Argo, and-"  
  
"HOLD it! I'll be right down!" He turned his comm. off. Jen'ra continued to broadcast her side of the three-way telepathic conversation that was going on around them.  
  
~Yes, that's it, Moya; keep telling me. . . oh, dren; not that again- NO! Tell him it was not his fault, he was still young, and who could possibly resist. . . oh, Ar'rob, no. . . Moya, this one's up to you, but tell him that we all forgive him, too, and keep it up until he listens! {You've all been through hell and back again, haven't you? It's a good thing for you all that he… that's it!} Ask him where they would be now if it weren't for him! Yes, John would be space debris, and who even knows about the others. . . {Sorry. I say what I have to, but honestly-} What's that. . ?~  
  
"'Honestly', what?" John wondered. "Is it just me, or is she making this personal?"  
  
"If you can't guess 'what', I'm not going to be the one to tell you," Aeryn replied bitterly.  
  
"And of course she's making it personal," Zhaan added. "She's got something to prove here, and unless I'm mistaken she also cares about Pilot himself. It's a very admirable quality in a healer, as long as you don't take it too far."  
  
D'Argo entered then, glanced around and demanded to know what had happened and what was going on. Aeryn explained:  
  
"When we Starburst, Jen'ra's link to Pilot was destroyed, and I guess he's formed some sort of mental block to her. He can't hear her, and she can't hear him. She's now 'speaking to him via Moya, but when the girl first contacted her she was panicked and the strange mental touch startled her, I think. Any idea how badly she was damaged?"  
  
Chrichton interrupted, "D'Argo, where's Spanky?"  
  
"Don't worry about him; he's in his quarters," said the Luxan, almost smugly. "And I made sure that he won't be leaving them until I say so."  
  
"I'm not gonna ask. . ."  
  
~He blames himself, for that? Oh, my dear; that could happen to anybody, especially- yes, tell him that, please. Well, I suppose not, but that's hardly the point right now. Repetition and conviction in what you're saying are the keys at this point. Huh? Oh! Good! Quickly, fill his mind with every good, beautiful, wondrous, happy thing the two of you have shared together, and with the others. Yes! {He paused! This is a good thing; gives us an opportunity to get a word or two in edgewise; Moya and me, that is.} Oh, I know, and it gets harder as it goes on. {Lost it! Made some progress in the right direction, though. A fighter, and he doesn't even know it. Hello, D'Argo, and welcome to the nightmare. Will someone please tell me what the time is?}~ A bit of the girl's natural good humor showed itself with this positive development, though she remained serious in tone. Aeryn glanced at her digital.  
  
"22 hundred. . . 17 arns."  
  
~Ah. Good.~ Jen'ra slid into a sitting position and leaned wearily against the console.  
  
~I'm alright, I'm alright!~ She protested as Zhaan knelt down beside her and Chiana started forward as if to do the same. ~It's only been thirteen arns, and that's the usual. I can take a bit more! I'm just a little-~ She suddenly sat up straight and stared directly in front of her.  
  
"What, what is it?" Chiana asked.  
  
~Moya says that the ship just re-appeared; the one from before.~ She sounded frightened.  
  
"Ohhhhh, tell me this isn't happening! Aeryn, can we get the defense shield up?"  
  
"I don't know, John; I can try."  
  
"Great; and while you're at it, see if you can transfer control of Moya to the Command Deck; we'll need it. C'mon, D'Argo, let's do this. Good luck, Sun-Shine."  
  
Aeryn glared at his back as he and D'Argo raced up to the Command Deck, but her expression softened as she began once again to toggle levers and push buttons. Chiana looked at her curiously. The ex- Peacekeeper returned her gaze, sighed, and shook her head.  
  
"I can't believe I'm doing this again, Chiana, I just can't. We take him for granted; after all we've been through together we still take him for granted, and we always will; do you want to know why? Because we don't know how else to behave, and even if we did, he wouldn't let us!" She jabbed a button and the corresponding light flashed red. "Dren! There's some connection or another missing on the shield; it's not working. I'll try transferring the control. . ." she pushed a few buttons. Moya gave an odd shudder and Jen'ra informed them that the Leviathan was troubled. She wanted to know why. . ?  
  
John commed them from Command.  
  
"How's it coming, Aeryn?"  
  
"Hold on a micron. . . there! You should have general control of flight and maneuvers now, but there's a connection missing to the defense shield; probably got knocked loose earlier. Where's that ship?"  
  
"It's. . . D'Argo, get it on the screen. What? Whaddaya mean you can't find it?!? Where'd it go?" A pause. Then, "Heh heh; we're having some slight technical difficulties: our friends seemed to have disappeared from view, which can only mean one thing, so you'll need to be up here, Aeryn, while the rest of us go on the defensive. Tell the others to get their comms on and keep 'em that way and get Pip out here with us; we'll meet you half way."  
  
"Right. Okay, you heard him; comms on, let's go!" She vaulted over the console and Chiana followed her out the door. They met John and D'Argo, Aeryn continued to Command and the others split up and began patrolling the corridors that led to the den, weapons at the ready, realizing belatedly that the shudder they had felt was the docking of the Armanian ship with Moya.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
Zhaan stared at Jen'ra's close-eyed, tight-lipped expression. She looked and sounded so tired, when she had still been 'speaking to them. She had stopped commentating after she had informed them of the return of the ship. The ex-priestess guessed that she eventually found it too much of an effort to 'speak both to Moya and all of them at the same time. Still, Zhaan wondered what was going on in the girl's, Moya's, and Pilot's minds.  
  
* * *  
  
~No! Moya, that can't happen, understand? Keep talking! I don't know; anything, say anything you can think of to hold him, just don't let him shut you out, too!! Ohh, I know, I'm sorry, but this is so different from any other experience I've had with this, and I just. . . can't let him go. What? 'Coming together'?. . . Oh! Oh, oh no; no! not now, not yet, please! Rrrrrrralright; what's the thread? Yes, that's the one. . . Of course. That has been the predominant trend of his thoughts. . . Moya, what has the Universe done to him, or is it just his species? Are they all like him? Again, I'm very sorry; you're right. Let's do this!~  
  
(Okay, focus, Jen'ra! What to do with Pilot?) She thought hard, considering every shred of information available to her to come up with the key to overcoming Pilot's particular brand of despair and snapping him out of it before it was too late. She was so intent on her thoughts that she didn't notice the Armanian soldiers overpower Zhaan. They knocked the girl unconscious and carried her limp body back to their ship and Scorpius.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
"Chrichton? Chrichton! John! Are you all right?" D'Argo shouted into his comm., racing down the corridors to where the Human had said he last was. He didn't see anything, but continued down the passage and around a corner to find his communicator and pulse-gun on the floor, along with one dead guy in tan.  
  
"Dren!"  
  
Chiana had been the first to be attacked by the Armanian thugs. When they had left her, half-conscious, she commed D'Argo to tell him to go help Zhaan. He went to her first, though, and only got to Zhaan after the soldiers had done their work. He had then gone to find John, but to no avail; they had taken him, and Jen'ra.  
  
* * *  
  
Pilot's single-minded despair reached its climax at that point, and Moya found her mindvoice blocked out by her Bond-Partner's own thoughts. The Leviathan cried out her despondency, but there was no one to hear. 


	6. Part Six

When John came to, he found that he was no longer aboard Moya, but tied up on the floor in the corner of a small gray room somewhere on the Armanian ship. He looked around; the room was barren except for a metal-frame cot against the wall to his left. The door was across from the cot.  
  
He shook his head to clear it, winced at the throbbing pain in his skull, and decided not to do that again.  
  
(Ow! Stupid bastards!) The memory of exactly how he got there came flooding back to him. He had heard Zhaan's call for help on his comm., started to make his way back to the den, turned a corner and ran into a group of six or seven guys, one of whom had Jen'ra. He had put up a good fight; killed one guy and clipped a couple others, but apparently not good enough. He began to wonder if the others were all okay and what they were doing, when the door slid open to reveal Scorpius, along with Kwah'ron and Jen'ra, still unconscious in the Armanian's arms.  
  
John tried to stand up, but only succeeded in falling on his face. Scorpius laughed, walked across the room in three steps, and kicked him viciously in the gut.  
  
"So, Human, we meet yet again. Aren't you surprised to see me? No? I'm soooo sorry to hear about your pilot, only it doesn't really matter much to me now that I have you. I believe you've met my friend." He motioned to Kwah'ron.  
  
"That's funny, Scorpy; I wasn't aware that you had friends," Chrichton wheezed the first retort that came to mind, trying to sit up again. Scorpius gave him a dirty look, and continued speaking.  
  
"He and his men are most useful in keeping me up to date on events in this part of the Galaxy, working for the upper-class as they do. When they told me about this girl here, you can imagine my delight."  
  
"Spare me," snapped John. "She won't work for you; she's on our side." He managed to achieve a sitting position again, and glared up at Scorpius.  
  
"Indeed! We shall see. Kwah'ron, wake her up!"  
  
The Officer lay Jen'ra on the cot, not ungently, and proceeded to shake her and tap her face. She groaned a bit, tried to bat his hands away like a cat, and eventually came around. She sat up, took one look at her surroundings and lunged for the door, only to be forcefully restrained by Kwah'ron.  
  
"Hold her," warned Scorpius. Jen'ra continued to struggle, and he held up a small, round, black remote-control-like object. "Do you see this? It's quite the useful little device, very effective at getting people to do what you want them to. You see, all I have to do is push this button…" he did so. The girl cried out in pain and held still. "…and the corresponding pieces attached to the sides of her head send a relatively intense electrical shock through her system. You see the results." He motioned at her tense, unmoving figure, her arms pinioned behind her by the Armanian.  
  
"You frelling- oomp!" Scorpius kicked him again, and he doubled over and fell to the floor a second time. Jen'ra involuntarily flinched in empathy.  
  
"Now! If everyone is ready to behave themselves, we can get this over with." He turned to face her. "Girl! What I'm telling you to do is read his thoughts, his memory, and pass on to me what you find; specifically certain wormhole data! If you don't feel like following orders, I will not hesitate to reinforce my authority." He tossed the remote in the air, caught it, and tapped the button again to prove his point.  
  
Jen'ra winced, but did not cry out again; the shock wasn't as painful that time, and she was too busy communicating with Moya. She faintly heard John's protest that she wouldn't recognize wormhole data if it introduced itself at a science fair.  
  
~He won't hear you? But you can still hear his thoughts; what's he saying? Same old, same old… okay. . . (this would be so simple if only the connection hadn't been lost!) Moya, keep trying; I'll think of something!~ She was vaguely aware of his life-force, slowing down and holding its low, sad tone. (What can I do? What can possibly- Ah! OW!!!) The shock raced down along her spinal cord, making her want to curl into a fetal position. Impossible; Kwah'ron was holding her arms back, so all she could do was writhe with the pain.  
  
"Do as I tell you, girl," Scorpius repeated, his voice slowly filtering into her consciousness, "and do not ignore me." She turned her tear-filled green eyes on John, hoping for direction. He could only shake his head, defeated: no, don't do it; no, don't let him hurt you again, just do it.  
  
Jen'ra bowed her head. She knew, even without the use of her talent. Decision-making time again; herself, or Chrichton? Her first loyalty lay with Pilot.  
  
She knew that if she complied, Scorpius would just hand her back over to Kwah'ron. Having 'met' him several times before on Armanith, she knew that pleading with him to let her help Pilot afterwards would get her nowhere, so no, she couldn't comply. But could she refuse? What would happen if she said "no"? On the other hand, did she have a choice?  
  
(It's hopeless either way; make up your mind! Alright! I know what I have to do.)  
  
She lifted her head again and looked Scorpius in the eye, fighting the urge to spit on his black boots.  
  
"No."  
  
Zap! The electrical shock lanced through her body like lightning, setting every nerve ending on fire. She nearly threw Kwah'ron and herself to the floor in the throes of her agony.  
  
"You are trying my patience, and that is a very dangerous thing to do."  
  
"Don't be stupid, Perrfelis," Kwah'ron spoke up. He didn't approve of Scorpius' methods, but wanted to see the girl back in prison and get his rewards, both from Scorpius and the Hizretts, who did not know of his affiliation with the half-Scarran. He wished the whole thing would just get itself over with. . .  
  
Jen'ra inhaled to get her wind back in preparation for speech, and several things happened. As she began to form the word "no", she picked up a slight change in the pitch of Pilot's life-force. A small change that she recognized the meaning of even in the split second before Moya informed her that the pattern of his thoughts has changed from "I'm not good enough" to "Everything has been my fault."  
  
Jen'ra's calm broke; this was the last straw. Her "NO! " became a challenge, both verbally and mentally. She pulled herself out of Kwah'ron's vice-like hold in a burst of adrenaline and righteous anger at this outrageous self-blame, and found herself in midair when she let loose a cataclysmic blast of mindspeech.  
  
~IT IS NOT! YOU'RE DOING THE BEST YOU CAN AND NOBODY EXPECTS MORE THAN THAT EXCEPT YOU!!!!~  
  
Everyone was affected. The force of the unshielded onslaught of broadcast telepathy was strong enough to break through Pilot's mental block. He heard her, and the shock of the strength of her presence along with Moya's emotional flood of joy at being able to 'speak him again stopped any other thoughts from forming, derogatory or not. The fever finally managed to break, and he fell into the kind of dreamless sleep that only the truly exhausted are privileged to experience.  
  
The members of Moya's crew still on board heard Jen'ra's mindcry much too loudly and clearly for comfort, but suffered no long-lasting ill effects except for Rygel, who was plagued by headaches for some time afterwards.  
  
The men and women on the Armanian ship for the most part fell to the ground holding their heads, completely unaware of what was going on. Many retreated to the quieter state of unconsciousness.  
  
Those in the room were hit the hardest. John was instantly knocked out and felt no pain right away. Kwah'ron turned out to be one of the unfortunate few who can't tolerate mindspeech under any circumstances and the blast immediately overloaded his brain and killed him. Scorpius was knocked out, but not before he stabbed the button of the remote with his finger, sending one last, critical shock of electricity coursing through Jen'ra's brain and body.  
  
The girl, already hit with the recoil of her own power, fell to the floor with a dull thud, barely breathing, barely alive. 


	7. Part Seven

Jen'ra woke up in the Medical Bay on Moya and immediately attempted to cast her mind about to see who was around. The first thing she noticed was that she couldn't, the second that it caused her pain to try. Her sharp intake of breath drew Zhaan's attention. The Delvian turned away from whatever she had been doing and approached the girl's bed.  
  
"I'll tell you right now, you're not to try to use mindspeech until I say so. As far as I can tell it's like having a broken bone: the more you try to use it, the slower it will heal; if at all in your case. Now, can you track my hand? Good. Going to stay with us for awhile? You've been in and out of consciousness for a few days now; do you need anything?"  
  
"How's Pilot? And John? And what happened after-" She stopped, slowly moved to a sitting position and looked around; all the other beds were empty. Zhaan smiled indulgently.  
  
"After you let loose that yell of yours, we assumed that something very bad must have happened to cause you to do so. We abandoned making any plans and boarded the ship, only to find the crew mostly unconscious. Don't worry, they're all fine and on their way home now. We had a hard time finding you, but the both of you had us extremely worried when we did. You yourself were about half-dead, and Chrichton not much better."  
  
"What about Kwah'ron and- the other?"  
  
"We took care of both of them," Zhaan replied curtly. "John is fine now; I told him he could go four days ago. He recovered much faster than I thought he would. That Human never ceases to amaze me. And Pilot-" She had been about to say that he was doing just fine. However, the eager, concerned expression on Jen'ra's face changed her mind. She could see that words wouldn't satisfy her in this matter anyway, and provided that the girl could walk, she decided that a short, supervised visit couldn't do any harm. After nine days of being bedridden, some exercise would even do the child good.  
  
"Well, let's just go and see, shall we? See if you can stand-"  
  
But she had already slid to the floor and claimed her balance, her face aglow with all the anticipation of a kid at Christmas. She let Zhaan guide her from there to the den, where Pilot was once again toggling toggles and pushing buttons, though not as many as usual. He smiled when he saw who his visitors were, the first time in how long. . ?  
  
He only recognized Jen'ra from when she had first snuck into his chamber, though she was cleaned up now and clothed in a white nightdress. He thought again how much her coloring matched Moya's bronzey-brown, causing the girl to almost blend in with the very walls. Except for her green eyes, which so resembled twin Galaxies, spinning so beautifully bright against the darkness of space, threatening to draw him in and hold him in the black hole at the center, so soft and comforting… He snapped himself out of it, and thanked the Builders that he hadn't said any of that aloud. Moya laughed at him in her way and sent a mental caress in his direction.  
  
"Hello, P'au Zhoto and Jen'ra. How goes your recovery? I'm- very sorry to have been the cause of so much trouble-"  
  
"Don't start!" Jen'ra and Zhaan chorused, along with Moya's warning grumble. He felt the beginnings of shame start to creep up his spinal plates, but saw the stern, worried looks on the female's faces and realized their point. The three looked at each other. Then Jen'ra couldn't repress her relieved laughter any longer, and set Zhaan off, which in turn caused her to laugh ever harder. Pilot was confused at first, but allowed himself to be amused by their strange behavior and smiled a bigger smile.  
  
"We are quite the trio!" Jen'ra burbled happily. "But how are you? I can't- and I haven't been able to see you before now, so I'm absolutely dying to know." The expression of absolute genuine caring concern for him on the young woman's face quite unsettled Pilot; even Aeryn and Zhaan had never looked at him quite that way before.  
  
"I'm- recovering," he replied dumbly. "They won't let me exercise my full duties," he glanced a bit resentfully at Zhaan.  
  
"Well I should hope not!" Jen'ra chided him. She strode, a little shakily, across the room, unabashedly took one of his claws in her hands and stared directly into his eyes. Zhaan called a warning, but the girl ignored her.  
  
"I was right," she released the claw. "Touch always heightened my perception, and my empathic abilities weren't at all affected." She grinned impishly at Zhaan, then turned back to Pilot, who was looking very embarrassed. "You should take it easy for a while longer before you resume your usual routine, and-" her knees wobbled a bit in fatigue, and she grabbed the console for support. "Me, too, I guess."  
  
"A good long while, if I have anything to say about it." Zhaan wrapped an arm around the girl and Jen'ra leaned gratefully against her.  
  
"Come on, back to MedBay with you. I'm sure you both have things to say to each other, but they can wait until you're both strong enough, Jen'ra. "  
  
"Yes, I suppose so," she sighed. "I thought I was more resilient than this. Oh, well. Farewell for now, Ar'rob, and I do mean fare well." She waved a little and they turned to leave.  
  
"Wait- why did you call me 'Ar'rob'? What does it mean?" Just one more look at those eyes... yes! She turned back to look at him, a bit startled.  
  
"It's a pet name- that I use- I'll explain later." Zhaan didn't stop walking, so she didn't have a chance to say more.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
Jen'ra found that she was very bored for the next few days. Chiana, Aeryn and Chrichton stopped by to say "hello" when Zhaan allowed her to have visitors, but she would have rather gone and said "hello" to them and prove that she was in fact getting better. Sitting around in a bed all day made her uneasy; she wanted to go and explore Moya, or at least poke around MedBay unescorted.  
  
"I've always been so curious," she told Zhaan, who listened patiently. "When I wasn't exploring someone's mind or healing, I was roaming about a whole planet, learning new things every day. Even as a little kid I was always getting in trouble for sticking my nose where it didn't belong, literally and metaphorically." She laughed, a bit sadly. "My father used to call me 'Felina'- that's 'little cat' in my language. Hmm. Said he would've named me that if Mother hadn't had other ideas. I miss them." She fell silent, and Zhaan waited for tears, but they didn't come. She began to move off, but Jen'ra spoke up again.  
  
"I wish I hadn't lost my talent so I could at least see what someone else is doing. I feel so, I dunno, crippled without it, like I'm blind and deaf and dumb all at once." The comment wasn't aimed at Zhaan, so the Delvian headed up to the Rec. Hall to get something to eat with the others, knowing that the girl would be alright on her own and wanting to get out of MedBay for a while.  
  
A small yellow robot also attempted to scurry stealthily out of the room past Jen'ra's bed, but did not escape her notice.  
  
"And just where do you think you're going?" She slid off the bed and scooped up the DRD in one movement and turned it to face her. It goggled back at her as only a DRD can.  
  
"Keeping an eye on me, huh? Hmph! Not fair when I can't do the same for you. Sneak!" She smiled and let it go, deciding then and there what she would do.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
Moya's passages were dark and her crew asleep when the lithe, white- clad figure that was Jen'ra slipped out of MedBay and pad-footed her way down to the den. She was glad of the DRD's lining the corridors, sure that she would be lost otherwise despite the previous trip. She slipped into the den and met the golden-eyed gaze of Pilot. He opened his mouth to speak, but Jen'ra raised her hand to stop him.  
  
"Don't tell me you're surprised to see me here at this arn, and don't tell me that I should be in bed. I know as well as you do, even without my talent, that you've hoped I would do something like this." She hoisted herself to the top of the console and perched to his left. There was a slight pause in which their eyes met and both realized which questions would remain unvoiced.  
  
"You were. . . going to tell me what 'Ar'rob' means." He broke the eye contact. Jen'ra smiled affectionately at him in the semi- darkness.  
  
"I sometimes give pet names to people. Not very often, though; only the. . . well, the special ones. Ar'rob means 'dear heart' in my language. You're a very endearing sort of person, though you don't seem to know it. You're. . . well, sort of young, aren't you? Relatively speaking; and don't bristle at me." She sighed softly. "I'm sorry; you don't have to answer that. Hmm. Go on, you probably have about a thousand questions to ask me."  
  
He did: a thousand burning questions to ask of this female biped that had saved his life. However, for some reason the one that had just formed in his multi-tasking mind took precedence and drove all the others out.  
  
"What does your name mean?"  
  
"What makes you think it means anything?"  
  
"I- don't know."  
  
She grinned.  
  
"It means 'Star-Destined'. I always thought it was silly, until recently. Still is, actually. I'm here."  
  
"But very accurate and fitting, Jen'ra 'Star-Destined' Perrfelis."  
  
"Don't call me that in front of anyone else, okay?"  
  
"All right."  
  
A pause. Then, shyly: "May I call you 'Felina'?"  
  
"Why?" She chuckled softly. "Ask me your real questions, and I'll tell you later. You don't have to worry about being polite with me."  
  
Moya encouraged him, so he steeled himself and asked.  
  
"How. . . did you come to be here, and why did you do what you did for me, and. . . what else happened while I was ill? No one will tell me, though I'm sure something must have, and all I can remember is your voice in my head and Moya's."  
  
"I can't answer your last one. If you truly don't remember anything, that's how it should be and will remain. Let's just leave it at 'you were sick'. As for the others, I think I'll tell you the whole story from the beginning. Thank you. I may not be able to read your thoughts, but I can still sense that curiosity. If anyone deserves to know, you do." So she launched into her story a second time, something she would have never done at all under normal circumstances. However, she found that she was ready, and realized that she had wanted to tell her story to someone ever since she had met Iganon.  
  
Pilot listened intently, waiting patiently when she searched for the descriptions that she wouldn't ordinarily need, being sympathetic when she accidentally slipped into broken and painful mindspeech, and finding himself more and more in admiration of the young woman's resourcefulness and ingenuity. Staring crisis in the face like that time and time again, and so often walking away a better, wiser person. . . he wished that he could be more like that, berated himself for being jealous, and Moya stopped him from taking that thread of thought any further. He noticed that Jen'ra operated very much on an emotional basis, leaving thought for later, but also hiding that fact from the rest of the world.  
  
(She's really a very young, headstrong, passionate female; she just knows more than she ought to, so the innocence is missing,) he thought to himself.  
  
Moya informed him that he only noticed that because he was the same way himself, and reminded him to pay attention to Jen'ra.  
  
"I just love doing what I do," she was finishing, swaying a bit even in her sitting position. "At first I suppose I was trying to avenge- but I found out that what I really like is to see someone come through something like that and learn something they didn't know before, like how much another person really cares for them. Or, sometimes I'd discover something they'd locked away in their mind and help them come to terms with it and let them get on with their life properly. I just love. . . being. . . a healer. . ." she yawned and had to quickly catch herself to avoid falling off the console. She grinned, embarrassed, at Pilot, who, feeling that he owed her something extended a claw to her and gently guided her to him. She fell asleep cradled against his torso in the grateful fold of his four arms.  
  
When Zhaan peeked into the den early the next morning in search of Jen'ra and saw the two of them asleep like that, she smiled, guessing something of what happened, and walked away. 


	8. Alternate ending

She grinned, embarrassed, at Pilot.  
  
"I guess I should crawl my way back to bed. Zhaan will probably have my hide if she finds me missing." She slid to the floor and slowly walked away, turning to look back at Pilot once before she returned to the MedBay.  
  
A few weeks later, when Zhaan pronounced her fit to travel, she and Aeryn prepared for the trip down to the surface of a reasonably populated planet outside of Peacekeeper influence. Jen'ra said her last good-byes to Pilot over the clamshell.  
  
"Call it a wanderlust, but I have to move on. I will never forget you, though, Ar'rob. Just remember, the only person you have to be is you, no matter what anyone else says."  
  
"I will. Farewell, Jen'ra 'Star-Destined', and. . . good luck."  
  
"Farewell. I think, though, that we will see each other again." She climbed into the pod, the clamshell went blank, and the door closed.  
  
Pilot watched the pod speed away from Moya through her visual sensors and sighed. He felt lonely again already. Ah, well, such was life... and something told him that she was right. They would meet again. 


End file.
